single women in spaghetti straps
men in khakis, collars and ties
linger in line for $3 microbrews
as we soak up the sounds of summer
girls giggle and groove at the front
forgetting for once they’re so small
beer bubbles in belly, beckons a smile
carrying kids through crowds into crescents
the ride home through Victorian
Colonial Craftsman Contemporary
bike lanes on every side street
brings a breeze of love through Lexington
lovely to love, to live, to meet.
with chunks of chicken
sticker books and melting chocolate
crinkly bags of beef jerky
mini pencils strewn like petals
crumbs in every crack
we make our way along the border
its golden sphere beckons us to stop.
we can’t go inside but see the perfect playground,
the grass soft as our new carpet,
the two-story fountain filled with children
who hear it erupt and rush
like carnivorous hawks toward fresh prey,
and i forget
(for all of ten minutes)
that i am not one of them,
but the parent
now soaked from head to toe,
dress sticking to my legs
as my three little girls
weave me in and out of spurts
in our quilt of childhood joy,
sewing up the perfect end
to a dogged day’s drive.
they have never seen
or collected one by one
bullfrogs hopping into the water
quicker than a wind shift
we pace like predators
around the pond
tiny whispered voices containing
excitement over bulging eyes
there are no mountains here
only hills so dense with trees
you’d never see the rocky bottoms
when we’re so used to rocky tops
instead horses swing reluctant tails
in air as thick and slow as syrup
and we watch a turtle slither on a log
and frog after frog hop into our hearts.
Riona
pieces of gold in a tiny bag
you hold it up in the dusty town
mountainous peaks bearing down
you blink at her and sniff
still after all these months
unwilling to speak a word
you cut felt in imperfect squares
around the pirates’ gold coins
so proud to pretend to be a Girl Scout
you are silently sick
never a whine or complaint
just your gentle soul of acceptance.
Mythili
you clip up your heavy bangs
emulating your sister’s idea
of new beginnings
every day you’d wear the
hand-me-down dress, so proud
that someone thought of you.
your old soul comes out
as we drive eight hours home:
“I need some air.”
you stand in the middle
pushing the new tire swing both ways
knowing you’ll bring them together.
Isabella
surrounded by friends
you are the happiest child
social butterfly fluttering by
you reorganize the backseat
toy bin, anal retentive mimicker
of mama’s nit-picky ways
you read reluctantly
in your sing-song voice
Charlotte spinning her magic web
sick sister in the night
you’ve grown up over night, miss,
“I took care of it.”
in 3.5 days
i have climbed two mountains
driven seventeen hours
hiked 1.5 miles
in and out of a canyon
vacuumed the house
bathed and combed three girls
hosted eleven more
drunk seven microbrews
noted the Firefox spelling inadequacies
and noticed that
my friends are all friends
with each other
our kids play like
Fairy Tale Land
perfect combinations of love
and
my veteran husband
can cook hamburgers
like there’s no other option
but meat
on Memorial Day
Love Day
Family Day
Friends Day
Coming Down the Mountain Day
this is Our Day
the love i never had
the friends i never had
the love
the love
the love
all around us.
With a toddler and baby in tow,
we walked our oldest to her first day,
the door open to your preschool room
lit up with sunshine shelves of toys.
You introduced yourselves to us
as Dee Dee and Helene, to the kids
as Ms. Teddy Bear and Ms. Jelly Bean,
quick-to-be-famous names in our ears.
For years our girls brought home
button families, clothesline crafts,
Dr. Dino, and homemade, hand-guided
projects to decorate our hearts.
Time has ticked away the tininess
of the baby you give back to us now,
her Silly Award another reminder
of all that has come to an end.
You will have an endless stream
of four-year-olds to keep the youth
and sunshine smiles on your faces,
but us? It will be just this: a memory.
A memory of their first school experience
that, as parents, perhaps we’ll recall
better than them, your warmth and love
the sunshine that will guide them through the next door.
as age moves into my veins
and brings wrinkles to my face,
emotions tug at places within
and brighten my eyes with tears.
at twenty i never would have cried
or understood my mother’s tears
on my wedding day, my own innocent eyes
full to the brim with smiles.
now i sit beside my growing girl
watching the autistic boy step up,
his voice singing out his solo
all the way to our back-row ears.
words elude me as the tear slips out,
rolls down the aging bones of my face,
the beauty of the moment lost
in the innocent young eyes of my daughter.
The year is ending;
we’re growing older.
Soon we’ll be Juniors,
bolder and bolder.
This year we’ve done
so many great events,
from camping to giving
everyone our two cents.
We started out small
and grew into this troop
that gathers cans and sells
cookies to support our group.
We’ve learned to sing
each new Brownie song
and to care for each other
all day, and all night, long.
We partied at Christmas
and again at Valentine’s,
learning our manners
in a matter of time.
Wonders of Water
taught us how to save,
for protecting our Earth
is the Girl Scout way.
World Thinking Day
taught us about the states,
we tasted many foods and
with our unit celebrated.
We mapped out xeriscaping
to help our new school;
we learned to snowshoe
and sled like no one’s fool.
We’re looking to the future,
to another great scouting year,
to earn more patches, have
more fun, and bring on Brownie cheer.
trees are like humans
she says
they take forever to grow
they start small
when they’re grownups
they don’t grow anymore
they stay in one place
i want to tell her
they’re trapped by roots
taunted by wind
pelted with precipitation
they never stop growing
you’re right
i say instead
knowing that
how she sees the world
could change by morning
and i should cherish
how she sees it today.
you wouldn’t want to know
how i see the world
how its shadow always hovers
over its light
i wish i could push the clouds away
and hold in my hands the smiles
that pop out as easy as dust mites
on my children’s faces
but i feel the rain following me
the wind pushing at my cheekbones
and i wonder how i lost
where i lost
that innocent smile
that announcement of
i don’t have a horrible childhood
that they’re so sure to tell me
that i’ve worked so hard to create.
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